


Pit Stop

by EllieL



Category: Clerks. (1994), House M.D.
Genre: Crack Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-21
Updated: 2006-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-17 17:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16978515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieL/pseuds/EllieL
Summary: As House made his way down the aisle to the refrigerated soda cases, he could hear their conversation as it carried through the store.





	Pit Stop

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-"House" crossover crack!fic

****  
  
West was a good endocrinologist, but a terrible golfer, which was why House had agreed to drive all the way out to his country club to kick his ass. He hadn’t counted on Zoffanay joining them, who was a terrible cardiologist but an excellent golfer. But House had managed to hold his own against him, finishing only two strokes behind him, both of them an easy dozen ahead of a laughing West.  
  
That didn’t make House want to stick around the clubhouse for drinks, though. He’d have rather driven his cleats into his skull than spend an extra minute with Zoffanay. A few miles from the course, he pulled over at a dicey looking convenience store.  
  
He sat in the parked car for a moment, staring at the lanky blond who was apparently having a seizure in the parking lot, until House realized that the music he heard was not coming from his car stereo, but an old, oversized boom box on the ground next to a fat smoker, nodding along with the beat. Shaking his head, he tried not to stare as he entered the dim store.  
  
Two men stood behind the counter. The dark-haired one had a price-gun in his hand, and was slowly but steadily affixing tags to items. His baseball-capped companion was holding what appeared to be a pack of gum, staring at it intently.  
  
As House made his way down the aisle to the refrigerated soda cases, he could hear their conversation as it carried through the store, echoing off laminate flooring and glass casing.  
  
“Why do these prices always end in sixty-nine?”  
  
“Probably because when you add in the taxes, it ends up an even amount.”  
  
“You know that’s not it! Those dominating retailing motherfuckers are a bunch of perverts and are trying to subliminally spread their sexual proclivities through pricing.”  
  
“You’re telling me you have a problem with sixty-nine?”  
  
House was surprised but amused by the conversation, which was at least less odd than the woman kneeling in front of the milk case, searching through the gallon jugs for something she obviously wasn’t finding. He wanted to tell her that she’d be better off just buying calcium supplements for her obvious osteoporosis, but somehow didn’t think the message would sink in. Repressing a smirk, he slid open the door and grabbed a Coke.  
  
“No problem at all, especially when it’s two chicks. Or two hermaphrodites. Chicks with dicks, man, chicks with dicks!”  
  
“Then what’s your issue?”  
  
“They would have you believe that it’s the ultimate sexual position. But all you’re really getting is a half-distracted blowjob. Neither of you are performing in top form, because you’re both too distracted by what the other’s doing, and you can’t direct the other person’s performance because there’s dick or snatch in the way.”  
  
“You’re telling me you’d pass on it?”  
  
House put the bottle on the counter and glanced between the two men. The one who’d been pricing put the gun down and stepped over to the register, ringing him up. The verbose, profane one stared at House for a minute. Then he asked, “What do you think, man?”  
  
He handed over a dollar to the clerk and laughed. “If both of you aren’t enjoying it, you’re obviously an idiot who’s way out of his league.”  
  
That seemed to stun them into silence for a minute—perhaps they weren’t accustomed to having customers actually respond to their lunacy. He took the bottle and headed out the door, hearing the young man begin to cast aspersions on his manhood as the door closed behind him. Both the loiterers stood by their boom box, watching and smoking, as he climbed back into his car and opened the soda.  
  
Shaking his head, he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. He’d have to remember to recommend this place to Zoffanay for a pit stop the next time he was out this way.  
  
****


End file.
